


Memories of Intoners

by lionsenpai



Category: Drag-On Dragoon | Drakengard
Genre: College AU, Diplomat AU, F/F, Gen, Multi, Various Other AUs tbh
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-01-12
Updated: 2017-01-06
Packaged: 2018-03-07 07:42:19
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 8
Words: 8,431
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3166913
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/lionsenpai/pseuds/lionsenpai
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Various, unrelated mini-fics from Tumblr. As of now, all of them are Zerrat's fault.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. zero/flower

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Zerrat](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Zerrat/gifts).



> I mentioned Zero/Flower hateship and Zerrat encouraged me far too much.

The Flower speaks in melodies, forgotten hymns which twist and knot between Zero’s temples, grating against her with the softest of lullabies, the kindest canticles. 

It keeps her awake through the night, and when she sleeps, its music stalks her even there. It soothes while she dreams of death and destruction and the end of the world at her hand, and when she wakes, its song trumpets to life, its tune a marching army’s beat. If it had a body she would have killed it by now, taken it out back and cut it to pieces until the only music left was a dirge, long and mournful. She would have rended it limb form limb, disassembled it piece by piece until nothing of the original remained. 

Yet the only place the Flower exists is within her own head, and the last time she tried to twist her neck from her body, its rancorous, flailing beats screaming in her ears, it had bore her through the pain and snapped her bones back into place, leaving her numb and trembling. It had brought her back—with  _additions_.

They are what she rallies against now, but it’s the Flower which she fights most viciously, its song bitterly sweet, cloying like a kiss with a knife at her throat. It plays gentle melodies when the day has gone, her limbs stiff and tired, and those are the times she nearly falters. Her thoughts turn black like ink, blotting out the world with her indifference, and how kindly it sings to her then. Honeyed promises set to a line of music. She could just be done with it all, and the Flower would do the rest. 

Yet when the dawn comes and she picks up her dragonbone blade, the Flower is stripped of its tenderness, song spiking without affection, without care. It shrills in her ears, a snarling, snapping beast, and she has to resist the urge to laugh, her head pounding. 

There are few things she loves in this world—few she has ever loved—but there is  _nothing_  richer than the sound of its fury, and so she continues her dance.


	2. one - gen

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sad One for Zerrat because she likes to hurt me.

By the time Zero reaches her, One’s song has changed.

The crash of metal on metal rings out through the cathedral, a dance of blood and rage, and One’s song thrums through her with every beat of her heart, every parry and lunge. She screams and spins, sending her chakram slicing through the air, but Zero ducks beneath it and her sword nearly catches her arm at the elbow.

_Lady One,_  it sings, a prelude, a forewarning. It heralds danger, begets despair.  _Zero has completed her conquest of the Land of Seas, and in her wake, anarchy has consumed the people. What’s left of our soldiers work to contain the damages, and we’ve held the coliseum so far. Lady Five’s body was recovered, but will be impossible to transport as it was left in… multiple pieces.We shall conduct the funeral rights here and pray for her spirit’s passage._

One lurches back so violently she almost topples herself, but she twists to the side at the last moment and regains her footing in time to push her chakram between her throat and Zero’s dragonbone sword. 

_Lady One_ , her song persists, humming within her skull.  _Lady Four’s airship was commandeered by the traitor, Zero. So far efforts to recover her body have been in vain. We believe she was thrown overboard near the boundary of the Land of Forests and the Land of Mountains, and hope to be able to report some success soon. May the Lady Four rest in peace._

_“_ Just die already!” Zero screams, and her song reverberates through One like an earthquake. 

She grits her teeth and digs in, pushing back and setting Zero on the defensive with a flurry of hits. Her own song doesn’t pause, not for a moment. 

_Lady One,_ and it’s words may as well be burned into her flesh.  _Lady Three is gone. The soldiers have lost control, and our Lady’s experiments have dispersed into the forest. They hunt us at night. There is little time remaining for us now. Oh, Lady Three why have you abandoned us? Yet not even her body remains to us now. The dragon has eaten her, and soon it will come for you as well, Lady One.  
_

The tears come unbidden, hot at the edges of her vision, and if Zero sees, her only reaction is a sneer, and she double back for space, panting. 

_Lady One,_ it repeats over and over.  _Lady Zero has done what you refused to do. Lady Two is finally at peace._

Zero tips her head back and screams, the power of her song coating her with hues of red, her sword forgotten for fangs and claws. She lunges forward, and One side-steps the slash, opening her mouth and letting her song consume her as well. They throw themselves at each other, sister against sister, and it’s no longer even a fight. They carve away at each other—mutual destruction—and yet, One doesn’t feel an ounce of it. Her song pounds within her skull, screaming,  _Five, Four, Three, Two, I’m sorry, I’m sorry, I’m so sorry my sisters_.

"Traitor!" One screams, all animal, all savage. She’s lost more throwing herself against Zero than she’s taken, and she knows it. It tastes bitter, like regret, like failure. "They were your sisters!"

She twists and turns to the tempo of her song, but everything screeches to a halt when Zero catches her. Ice blooms in her chest, and when she looks down, the color fading from her skin, she finds Zero’s hand between her breasts, nails splitting her breastbone. She chokes, and Zero throws her to the ground, her song fading as well, and draws her sword again. 

One doesn’t resist. All the strength bleeds out of her through the gaping hole in her chest, and she parts her lips in a whisper. “Five,” she says, just to hear it one more time. “Four, Three—” Zero towers over her, two hands on the hilt of her sword. Looks like she won’t avenge her sisters after all. “Two.” She closes her eyes and waits for the blow.

_I love you._


	3. four/five

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> College AU with the prompt "kissed the wrong person at a party".

Four wakes up with lipstick on her face. 

Six years of wanting and exactly forty-three missed chances with the most perfect person she’s ever met, and all she really needed was a few shots of fireball and maybe a little too much jaeger.

(there are smudges of dark red on her lips, her cheek; she traces the outline of One’s mouth on her neck and shudders, head pounding, because if not for those last however many shots, she might remember the heat of her breath when she left them)

She should have invited One out to a party  _ages_  ago.

Removing herself from the bathroom with a heavy swallow of ibuprofen—completely worth it—and water from the tap, Four shuts the blinds and forgoes the couch where she woke up for her bed in the other part of the dorm. She’ll sleep off her hangover and then text One this afternoon, after she’s sure to notice—or hopefully remember—the proof of their closeness last night. 

Slipping into bed and burying her face into the pillow, her blankets pulled up over her head, Four closes her eyes and tries to call back the memories through the tangle of hurt and pressure behind her eyes. She remembers up until Zero had gotten into a fight and has a handful of flashes of drinking, lying on the floor, and letting her hair down, but beyond that, there isn’t much to console herself with except the feel of waxy lipstick on her skin. She touches it briefly, smiling despite herself, and resigns herself to having to pick up the rest of the story from Two. 

Another thought drifts through the mess, a memory of soft hair between her fingers and the sound of her own pulse in her ears. She shivers, though there’s no heat to her, not when her gut is a roil of acid. 

After this, there’s no way One will keep ignoring her advances. 

Except… The thought occurs to her like the slam of a door, and she flinches and goes still. One hadn’t been wearing lipstick when she’d pulled Zero off the sorority sister who’d dared bump into her or when she’d pulled her outside, a string of curses following them. 

Three had swirled her drink around in her cup, blinking like she might fall asleep at any moment; Two had looked beyond concerned, her face flushed pink from the alcohol; and Five— _freshman Five_ —had merely hummed, touching up her makeup in a compact mirror and catching Four’s gaze with a wink, her lips the color of blood.


	4. five/zero

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> diplomat au where one is an ambassador and five and zero are her gfs who who punch each other a lot. fisticuffs because these two would fucking go at it in spars.

If Zero’s being completely honest, Five isn’t all that bad.

She ducks and weaves and tries to trap Zero in chokeholds and bars, and if Zero isn’t being careful, she’ll steal all of her space, backing her right up to the corner of the mat. When all that’s left to her is to try to fight her way out, Five meets her rushes and jabs with a gentle force, sliding around her fists and using her own momentum to send her sprawling.

So yeah, Five isn’t all that bad—but Zero’s still better. She didn’t work back-alley bars scuffing with any fucker who didn’t think he had to leave because the bouncer’s a girl without learning how to deal with people who can throw a punch. Zero’s got the crooked nose of person who’s always ready to swing, and Five’s face is too perfect and too pretty for her to be beat by the likes of her. 

Five must notice it as the two of them pull on their gloves. She stares openly, stretching her arms high above her head. “Got something to say, Zero? You look fit to burst.”

Zero rolls her shoulders and pulls her hair back from her face, watching as Five does the same. “And you look constipated.” Five laughs, and Zero grits her teeth. “Stop smiling and get the fuck up here.”

They take their places across from each other, the mat soft beneath Zero’s bare feet, and Zero falls into her stance, already breathing fast. Five is all lax, all fluid motion, never quite taking it seriously until she does. She pulls her fists to her face, cloud of hair swaying behind her as she bounces on the balls of her feet, and gives Zero a wink, smile easy. 

It makes Zero’s pulse pound, makes her eyes narrow and fingers itch. She snaps her teeth together and says, “Go!”

The first punch is Zero’s, but then, it usually is. Zero surges forward while Five waits to break her, a wave against the sand, and Zero’s jab sinks into Five’s guard, useless. She tucks her head and glances a returning hook off her forearm, not retreating from Five until she goes for a sweep. Then it’s all Zero can do to backtrack, swinging wide once she’s out of range to jerk her knee into Five’s back. 

Five twists and catches her leg, but Zero closes the distance between them before she can throw her off and catches Five by the back of the neck. She leans back to bring them both to the ground, but before she can pull her off balance, Five hits her with a brutal headbutt and Zero feels her vision taper at the edges, her mind swimming. She’s falling before she can right herself, and there’s no space to recover when Five comes crashing down on top of her, her knee pressing into Zero’s chest. 

She blinks, and Five looms over her, smiling. “You’re very pretty when you’re on your back, Zero.”

Everything’s still fuzzy, but there’s enough clarity now for Zero to realize she’s being mocked. She reaches for Five’s elbow to pull her off, but Five catches her wrist first, humming in the back of her throat and sliding her knee off Zero’s chest, straddling her instead. “Mmm, keep making that face, and I’ll be tempted to cut our spar short.” She nudges her hips down into Zero. “What do you say?”

Zero scowls and unseats Five with a sudden raise of her hips, rolling her before she can brace herself. “I say—” She pins her with her hips and catches one of Five’s arms in a figure-four armlock, tugging until Five’s features contort with pain, her breath a hiss. “Shut the fuck up.”

She’s tense and taut under her, Zero refusing to give her even an inch lest she wants to nurse a dislocated shoulder, and Five can do little more than writhe, her lips pressed tight. 

With a final gasp of pain, Five snarls, “ _I give_.”

Zero’s smile is cut of angles, but she doesn’t withdraw immediately, letting Five suffer in the hold for a long moment. Then she releases her, and Five practically sags against the mat, sweat forming on her brow. She rolls her shoulder a couple of times, testing, and when she turns her gaze on Zero again, it sends prickles of anticipation through Zero, sure Five’s going to repay her with a broken jaw. 

“Got something to say,  _Five_?”

“Words aren’t really your strong-suit, Zero. You don’t understand a thing unless it’s beaten into your head.”

Zero snorts. “Says you.”

“Says me,” Five repeats. “Get off me, and I’ll demonstrate.”

Her gaze is a hard caress, just shy of bruising, but Zero still wants to break her down, wants to mess up that pretty, perfect face. She squeezes her hand into fists and rises, stepping off to the side like life’s lost all its hustle. Zero swings her arms and cracks her neck, and when she turns around, Five is on her feet and falling into her stance, smile flatter this time around. 

Her eyes are molten, focused in on Zero as she readies herself for the next bout. 

Zero can’t help but smirk. They’ll go a few rounds here, whittle away at each other until they’re sore and sweaty, and then after practice, they’ll go a few more, their gloves and clothes forgotten by the showers or in the backseat of the sedan. 

Until then, Five taps her gloves together and says, “Go!”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> older, but I forgot to post this back when it was first written. whoops.


	5. five/one

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> prompt: one/five “The paint’s supposed to go where?”

“The paint’s supposed to go  _where_?”

“A little faith, One,” Five says, wiping her brow, a smudge of white appearing against her dark skin. “It’s all perfectly safe, and I can help you with the clean up myself.”

She winks and gestures to sit down on their small off-campus apartment’s only stool, the bar cleared away of dishes and pictures from sophmore year to make room for the palettes, recently cleaned and ready to be slathered in paint once more. One, for her part, doesn’t bite, gaze cutting between Five and the tubes of acrylics before neatly sliding around her and starting up the coffeepot with the press of a button. 

It’s 7:49. In the morning. 

“One,” Five insists, her tone feathery and light as she approaches. “I’m telling you it’s perfectly safe–and I’ve run out of canvases and the store won’t be open for another hour.”

One doesn’t flinch when Five wraps her arms around her shoulders, curls of gold that couldn’t be contained by her ponytail brushing against her cheek. Paint and caffeine stick to her skin, masking the familiar scent of her shampoo. “Did you even sleep last night?”

“Are  _you_  really asking me that?” Five teases, turning her face into One’s hair, her laughter a puff of hot air. 

“I slept last night. I’d wager that’s more than you could say.” Unbidden, One’s hand finds its way to her jaw, cupping her face even as she watches the coffeepot chug away. Five hums, but when she offers no more explanation for the inexplicable disappearance of the three canvases she bought yesterday, One asks, “You picked this up from who again?”

“Four,” Five says, leaning back–and pulling One with her. “She’s taking a course, and she’s doing terribly.”

One rolls her eyes but doesn’t resist as she’s led back toward their kitchenette’s bar. Nearly half a dozen paintbrushes lay drying on a rag, and Five’s tablet sits ready and waiting, a picture of some leviathan sea beast pulled up on the screen. There’s at least one hundred dollars in paints scattered across the surface, some of them already close to half empty. 

After three years knowing Five, One reminds herself she shouldn’t be surprised. Another hobby, another quick fix; she’ll run herself to exhaustion for a fortnight, maybe two, but then all these supplies will disappear into a drawer, reappearing only when she’s reminded she has them at all. 

Just like with billiards, sewing, tarot readings, and photography (if perfecting the art of taking a selfie could really be called photography).

“Come on, One,” Five says, nudging One onto the seat. “I’d be very grateful, you know.  _Very_  grateful.”

Pulling Five’s arms from around her shoulders, One turns in the seat to face her, and it’s impossible to miss the flash of suggestion across her face. This early in the morning? The offer would carry more appeal if One didn’t want to crawl back into bed and enjoy her Saturday reading news articles beneath the covers–preferably with a cup of coffee to warm her.

Still, it brings a half-smile to her lips before she can quell it, the paint on her face and shirt somehow endearing even with Five’s version of gratitude hanging in the air between them. One means to stay stern, but Five notices the amusement before she can banish it and responds in kind, grinning just so, her amber eyes warm, brilliant.

“Five,” One says, unable to bar the affection from sneaking into her voice, ruining her facade of unhappiness. Her smiles were always contagious, and she struggles not to catch it now. She lasts another moment before she knows she’s done in, pushing Five’s face away and turning her own away. “Oh,  _stop it_.”

The dart of Five’s tongue is neither unexpected nor unwelcome, and as soon as One yanks her hand back, Five leans in, chasing the taste of her until she’s on her lips, her hands planted on either side of One’s hips. This isn’t unexpected either, but One still has to tangle her feet in the bars between the legs of the stool to keep herself from tumbling back off of it, her hands scrambling for an anchor and catching on the front of Five’s shirt. 

Faint traces of whatever energy drink Five has been using to stay awake linger on her breath, but the softness of her lips draws One in all the same. It’s chaste by all accounts–especially Five’s–but it still makes One’s pulse thrum. 

When they break, it’s only so that Five can linger just out of reach, one hand wrapping around One’s hip and squeezing, and say, “ _Very_  grateful.”

One uses Five’s shirt to pull her back in that fraction of an inch and kiss her again, smiling into it. “Grateful enough to come back to bed with me?”

Five grins. “That was the plan.”

“To  _sleep_.”

“Spoilsport,” Five says, but leans in to kiss her again anyway. “But you have a deal. Shirt off, please.”

“And a cup of coffee,” One adds, glancing at her half-full pot. “That’s part of the deal too.”

Five leans back, her lips quirking at one end. Clicking her tongue, she turns on her heel, flipping her hair over her shoulder, and heads for the cabinet with the mugs. “Remind me to hire you once you’ve passed your Bar. You’re ruthless.”

A tug of her pajama shirt is all it takes to pull it over her head, folding it in her lap and turning, goosebumps prickling in the cool air. “And yet I’ve got the vague feeling I’ve been swindled. Acting as your canvas before I’ve even had breakfast?  _You_  ought to go into law.”

A moment later, Five is back with her coffee, setting it where One can reach it on the bar and then disappearing behind her. “Your homework is even drier than mine, One. I think I’ll pass.”

One hears Five pick up her tubes of paint and apply them to her palette, the brustles of a brush swishing over plastic as she mixes. It’s a long moment before Five is ready, and One passes it by taking a tentative sip of her coffee, it warming her all the way down to her toes. Then she feels Five press a kiss to her shoulder, suddenly right there. 

“Let’s get started, then.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> this pairing continues to either be disgusting cute and gay or at each other's throats there's literally no in between for me holy shit.


	6. Chapter 6

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> murder girlfriends five/zero with their first meeting. very related to restless tides, if u remember that one :9

Jail. Alright. Easy.

Zero had done her share of time behind bars, and this was going to be no different. Just another trip to the slammer. For murder.

Her fingers drummed across the metal table of the interrogation room, handcuffs chafing her wrists red. Like any good record criminal, she’d called for her attorney the second they’d gotten her into custody - not that Dito had showed his face since, the little fuck.

The police couldn’t say shit to her now that she’d said the magic words, but that didn’t stop them from leaving her to a nasty room by herself to stew.

And she was stewing.

The minute that overpaid shit got here, she was gonna give him a mouthful, all five foot of him -

The door swung open with a clatter of steel on steel, and Zero’s plans for racking up another first degree murder charge went on hold, head snapping up to greet Dito with a sneer. But instead of Dito, a woman stood in the doorway, waving away a man in uniform and then turning her cutting gaze on Zero.

“The fuck?” Zero heard herself say.

The woman was a splash of color in a room of white walls, her petticoat a rich violet, her long, curling hair a vibrant gold. The dark gems hanging from her throat and ears were easily worth more than Zero would make in a year, and the designer handbag she carried completed the look of Filthy Rich.

Her heels clicked over the tile as the door shut behind her, and she set her bag on the table, table the seat opposite Zero.

Zero stared, slack-jawed. “Who are you?”

From anyone else it might have sounded like surprise, but Zero had honed the particular skill of always sounding like she was thirty seconds from busting someone’s face in, and thus -

“Don’t look so upset,” the woman said, her red lips parting in a beautiful smile, all her teeth straight and white. “I’m the woman who’s going to pay your bail, provided you don’t mind answering a few questions.”

Zero bristled immediately. “Get the fuck outta here. I already called for my attorney and I’m not answering any questions.”

People who talked to people making promises got decades added to their sentences, and with the way things were going, Zero was already looking at a few.

“Oh, Dito? I found him waiting outside. And here I’d thought you’d already sent him away.”

That little -

“He’s outside? I am going to fucking -”

Her mouth clamped shut as the woman’s amber gaze narrowed in on her, her smile growing fractionally.  She was still in a police station, she remembered. Best not to make threats where people were listening.

Making fists of her hands, Zero leaned back in her chair, slouching down to the point that the cuffs bolting her to the table strained against her. The woman watched her curiously, as if every move had some deeper meaning even Zero wasn’t privy to, and Zero shot her a dirty look.

“And? Who the fuck are you supposed to be?”

“I already told you,” the woman reminded her, reaching into the purse she’d brought along and retrieving a small stack of papers. “But if you’re asking who the police think I am, it would be best if you said I was your lawyer.”

Zero raised a brow.

“I’m also the former employer of the man you beat to death today.” Thin fingers pushed a glossy photo toward Zero, the tips painted and freshly manicured. From that angle, Zero could barely see the image, but she recognized - barely - the bald head and nice suit of the man from earlier.

Expression cooling, Zero sneered. “Never seen this guy before.”

A thoughtful hum. “Really? I saw the surveillance tapes. You seemed to have gotten quite a good look at him when you bashed in his face with the butt of his own pistol.”

Zero’s stomach knotted. Tapes?

The woman only leaned forward, resting her chin on her palm, and set another photo on the table, this one much lower in quality. There she was, hunched over the fuck as his skull leaked out onto the concrete. The self-satisfaction rolling off this woman absolutely nauseating, and Zero pushed herself up in her seat.

“What the fuck are you doing here? Are you a cop or a lawyer?”

The woman’s lips quirked, as if she’d been waiting for that question all along. “I consider myself a businesswoman - and an opportunist. You see, I’ve recently lost my bodyguard of four years to some common criminal. A common criminal who was able to disarm him and fracture his skull in multiple places. A common criminal who is now facing extensive charges for killing a man carrying two illegal weapons and transporting cases more in the back of his car.”

“What?” Zero’s brow knit. “The hell are you talking about? I thought you said he was your employee, not a -”

Painted nails tapped the steel table between them. “A criminal? One who enjoyed almost complete immunity from the law and a salary that makes your bail seem like pocket change?”

Zero’s lips thinned, nose wrinkling like she was trying to suss out the meaning behind the woman’s words.

“You don’t look like you’re seeing the opportunity here, Zero.” The casual use of her name set her teeth on edge. “I’ve just had a position open for someone not afraid to get their hands dirty, and you are in dire need of someone to keep you from getting a life sentence.”

Now it clicked. “You want to hire me?”

The woman fixed her with an unblinking stare, her voice low and tinged with an interest which had nothing to do with business, “Desperately.”

There wasn’t a fracture in the woman’s demeanor, but she wore her desire blatantly, her pupils blown wide, her gaze tracking over Zero’s shoulders, up her neck, lingering on the pulse fluttering at her throat.

When Zero found herself at a loss for words, the woman made a noise of disappointment and rose from her seat. “Not interested? A shame. I know a damn good lawyer who’d have gotten you off -”

“Wait!” Zero almost jumped out of her seat, her cheeks burning at the unexpected heat sinking between her thighs. “Wait, hold on. I never said I wasn’t interested.”

“Oh?” The woman gave a cutting smile.

“Yeah. You say you can get me off?”

A hand was extended. “Easily.”

Another twist of her guts, this one accompanied by a clench of her thighs. Well fuck.

She almost didn’t recognize the gesture, struggling to reach the offered hand with her mind stuck on the curve of those full lips and her hands still shackled to the table. The warmth of those fingers around her own was another distraction, her thoughts derailing.

“Deal.” Zero took a steadying breath. “Who the fuck am I working for?”

“And here I thought you’d never ask.” She gave a little laugh while withdrawing her hand. “My friends call me Five.”


	7. Chapter 7

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> a double update??? i sure have a lot of things i never posted. 
> 
> one/zero in diplomat au before five comes on board. literally everything ive written for this is just fisticuffs

One hits the mat with less _oomph_ than you expect, but then again, she’s barely a solid five foot and weighs less than what you can bench on a bad day. She doesn’t even try to roll away so you tighten your grip on her wrist and dig your knee in between her shoulder blades. 

It pulls a pained wheeze from her, and her hands clench into fists, her forehead pressed to the floor. Weakly, muffled into the mat, she says, “Zero. _Enough_.”

You don’t give immediately. A little pain never hurt anyone–or, well. You frown, pushing the thought aside and saying, “Think anyone else is going to stop just because you tell them to? If I wanted you dead, you’d be dead by now.”

One lets out another breath that’s like a thread pulled taut, and against your fingers, you can feel her pulse pounding away. She’s running mental gymnastics, you’re sure, trying to think of a way to convince you to just let her get back to her briefs and schedule. 

_This really isn’t necessary_ , she told you before you began. _Really, I have the utmost faith in your ability to protect me._

You release her arm all at once, and it drops like dead weight before she can pull it under her, cradling it close to her chest. When you stand, she turns over, red-faced from exertion and sweating, her pale bangs stuck to her forehead. There’s a wrinkle in her brow that tells of aches over her entire body, and she stays down, knowing that rising will only start the next round. 

“I think this is,” she manages between shallow breaths. “Quite enough, don’t you?”

“Not really.” You shrug, standing over her and pressing back some of the hair that fell in your face when you took her down. “You’re still shit.”

She rolls her shoulder and touches it gingerly, biting out, “Thank you, Zero.”

“That wasn’t a compliment. You wouldn’t last a second if the Roses came after you and I wasn’t around.”

One heaves a sigh. “Isn’t that what I pay you for? To be around?”

You make a face and give her a nudge with your foot, trying to stir her into action. A little endurance would go a long way for someone like her. “Yeah, well, there’s no guarantee I will be, so get up and let’s do it again.”

She groans, but pulls herself into a sitting position with a wince. “Zero, I can’t tell if that’s concern for me or something I should be concerned about.” 

She looks up to you expectantly, and you roll your eyes and offer her a hand, pulling her to her feet with a hard yank. It nearly pulls her into you, and that just reminds you of how small she is, how easy it is to push and pull her around. Maybe you should get her to eat more… 

“Zero?”

Her voice snaps you out of your thoughts, and you let go of her hand, wiping your palm on your shorts, looking away. “Yeah, yeah, yeah. I fucking hear you.”

One fixes you with a look you’re beginning to see more and more, one that you haven’t quite figured out yet, and the appearance of it now only makes you huff. Turning on your heel, you stalk back to the opposite corner of the ring, thankful it’s just the two of you here.

Not that you would have been able to convince her to do this if there’d been a single soul in the building. Getting thrown around in front of others? Her ego couldn’t take it.

She doesn’t go to her corner like she should, her hands running across her ribs, her arms, mapping the bruises that are already beginning to form, sallow hues visible upon her alabaster skin. By the time you’re done, she’ll be covered in them, but then again, part of this was always an exercise in exposure: let her get the feel for pain so it won’t cripple her in a crisis.

“That wasn’t an eagerness to continue,” she says, but when you shoot her a hard look, she sighs and limps into position. 

“Go again. We’re gonna go through this until you get it right.”

“I’m telling you–”

“Go!”

You rush forward, and she freezes up just like the last time. This time though, she manages to get her guard up before you get there, but she’s still too stiff, and you hook her once in the ribs, a blow that sends her rebounding into the ropes, her balance upended. 

Just like before, you go for her leg to topple her completely, but One recovers just in time to step away from your grab and throw a wild elbow. You duck it, and aren’t shy about going for her throat, jamming your forearm under her chin and not relenting even when she heaves a raw exhale as she goes down. Her back impacts heavily, and your knees follow suit, pinning her and pressing hard against her throat until you can see the stars in her eyes. 

When you lay off just a fraction, she hacks and gasps, tilting her head back to breathe and baring more of her thin neck to you in the process. The fingerless gloves you outfitted her with protect her knuckles, but they don’t do a thing for you when she digs her nails into your flesh, pushing hard against your arm. 

It’s more than you got before, perhaps real panic drawing on reserves of strength she didn’t know she had, but it still isn’t enough, and you keep your arm flush against her throat, a constant pressure just to remind her how close she just came to getting choked out. 

“Zero…” her voice is feeble, thin, no more than a whisper. 

You just frown down at her, measuring each inhale. Every bit of One is soft, from the flesh of her arms to the curve of her lips, parted for air. If not for you, she would probably be dead already, too set on her goals and plans to check the wayside for people who would cut her down. 

Your mouth tightens, and she tilts her head down, hints of–anger? Christ, you didn’t think she got angry. Maybe now you’re getting somewhere. 

“That was dirty,” she forces out, voice hoarse. She swallows thickly, and you feel it against your arm. “You said–”

“Tough,” you say. “No one plays fair in real life.”

That seems to sink in even through the haze, but she only responds by dropping her hands away from your arms. You raise a brow, scoffing. Back to this? 

“No one’s gonna fucking take pity on you just because you stop fighting.”

Even so, you draw your arm back and straighten, and she takes a grateful inhale and touches her neck, pushing up onto one elbow. You watch her swallow again, but then her eyes flicker up to you.

“I understand that,” she says slowly, and this time her voice comes a little stronger. “But dragging this out isn’t going to help. I have other things which require–”

“You didn’t even–”

“Zero, no, I will be feeling this for days, and I am _done_ –”

“Yeah, that’s right, just say to hell with your own safety!”

“I understand you’re worried–” One touches the front of your shirt, a move you’ve seen her use before. Establish a relationship, a rapport. She might not be much in a fight, but she knows her trade–unluckily for her, so do you. “–and I appreciate that, but I’m not doing another round. This has gone on long enough.”

You make a sound of annoyance in the back of your throat, jerking your head away. “Fuck that. You still need to learn to fight back.”

Surprisingly, there’s no immediate rebuttal. The fingers against your chest rise higher to touch your shoulder, and you give a huff, not looking back even when One asks, “And you’re set on that?”

That’s a stupid question, and One must realize it when you roll your eyes. 

“Okay.”

“Good. So stop wasting time by lying there.” One’s fingers find the notches of your spine, and just as you’re preparing to swat her hand away, she pulls you down. 

You tense up in expectation of a headbutt, shutting your eyes, but the hard impact never comes, your jaw set stubbornly, head still canted away. It takes half a second for you to realize that in place of what could have been a sure sign of getting _somewhere_ with One, you feel the hasty press of lips just beneath your ear, a realization which only locks up all your joints, a full body shudder shooting up your spine. 

One grazes her teeth lower, and your pulse flutters beneath her mouth, a choked noise escaping you in a puff of air. 

When reflex catches up, you snap back to face her, sputtering, “What–”

But she only finds your mouth instead, kissing you feverishly and digging her nails into the back of your neck. The gears in your head spin uselessly, but in the face of such eagerness, you find yourself parting your lips for her, struggling to match One’s wildfire tempo. 

You taste sweat and blood on her, but you still brace yourself with hands by her ribs and let her flick her tongue across your lower lip, a warmth pooling low in your belly. 

“ _Shit_ ,” you mutter, but she swallows the sound of it, and you lean down into her, tilting your head to get a better angle and giving as good as you get.

By the time your mind catches up, she’s got her fingers in the loose braid hanging down your back, and you take advantage of the moment and pull back just an inch, breathing hard for the first time since you got in the ring, heat rising up your neck and into your cheeks. 

“What are you doing?”

One chases you, but this time, the kisses she lays upon your jaw and mouth and feather-light. 

“Playing,” she says in between presses of her mouth. “ _Dirty._ ”

The words hit you like a freight train, and you pull back even more, finally getting a look at One. Her eyes are clear, but the blush of exhaustion still pulls color to her pale flesh. Your gaze drops to her lips, and you swallow at the sight of a measured smirk, subdued, waiting. 

Heart thumping in your ears, you curse, “Damn, that’s–”

“Exactly what you wanted?”

Despite it all, there’s a question there, and you recognize the look she’s been giving you for weeks now, keen and searching. Her fingers still halfway through winding your braid round them, and she doesn’t move. 

A beat passes, and then a rough peel of laughter tumbles from your throat. “That’s so fucked.”

One doesn’t have a chance to respond; you duck and press your lips to hers again, a delight raising goosebumps on your sweat-slicked skin. She doesn’t protest, even leans back so she’s not holding herself up anymore, freed hand finding the jut of your hip while you pull her hand from your hair, pinning it above her head. 

The slide of her tongue against yours is hardly an assurance she won’t bite it to some fucking dissenter with a cause, but it’s sweet enough that you overlook the rest–for now. 


	8. Chapter 8

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> a triple update?!?!?! how many more of these things am i going to find lying around. 
> 
> five/four in some pre-game nonsense

In the first place, Four doesn’t need Five.

That One assigned them together at all is a sure declaration of it. Trusting her with the youngest of them - whose only talents are shirking responsibility and managing to conduct her _less savory_ business away from the prudent eyes of One - can only be proof of the utmost respect, proof that One has seen Four for who she truly is.

( _“I can’t see to this myself,” One said, picking a scroll from the heap which had collected on Three’s sleeping form over the last few days. “Please, Four… Take Five with you, and return as soon as you’re finished. No delays.”_ )

It’s why, even when Four goes to rally Five into motion from her ritual afternoon nap, she doesn’t return to complain to One when Five is nowhere to be found. She examines the tangled remains of bright sheets and notes the cherry cores scattered across the floor, stems tied into knots, surmising, _of course_ , Five must have already slipped away for the day.

It’s why, even as Four winds through this disgusting maze of a city they’re sheltering in, she doesn’t balk at the filth lining the streets or the humans begging coins at every corner. Beneath the hot, midday sun, she works through the narrow, crooked streets with her hair pulled into tight pigtails, jacket draped around her shoulders to conceal her gauntlets.

It’s why, even when she arrives at Five's newest favorite _establishment_ , she doesn’t sneer at the whores plying their trades, good looking men and beautiful men beckoning her gaze with whistles and flashes of bare flesh.

Four keeps her gaze steady and doesn’t waver a bit, wearing One’s approval like a suit of armor. She rebuffs every wanton call and makes it to the doorman - who recognizes her and waves her by without trouble - without allowing her eyes to stray even a little. She only closes her hands into fists, ignoring the heat rising to her cheeks and concentrating on the heady, telling thrum of Five’s song within.

Inside, experience tells Four to hang a quick right, going up a set of rickety stairs and pressing hard to the wall when two men in nothing at all come down from the second floor, brushing by her with a wink and promising smiles. Four colors further, her guts roiling with warmth, but hurries by them, refusing to be led astray.

Five’s room is one of the biggest in the brothel; gold coins are scarcely seen in a place like this, but Five can afford to be generous when they’ve just recently usurped a lord and emptied his coffers.

Four knocks. Four always knocks, but Five’s song doesn’t even falter even after three clear strikes against the door. Leaning closer, Four can hear the sound of airy laughter but nothing else— _thankfully_.

She pinches the bridge of her nose and closes her eyes, covering them with her hand and then reaching for the doorknob.

“Five,” she hisses, throwing open the door, senses immediately assaulted with the smell of sweat and sex, praying for all the world that Five is not doing what she thinks she is. “Five, stop whatever you’re doing. We have to go!”

Without sight, Four is spared the worst of what follows, but she still gnaws at her lower lip and feels herself burn bright red when she hears an absolutely _filthy_ moan in the shape of her name. There’s that light laughter again, and the bed squeaks, shifting enough for the headboard to hit the wall.

Four lets out a shriek of revulsion and turns away even despite not being able to see anything, and for a terrible, dragging minute, the sounds don’t let up, Five keening and whimpering to a backdrop of choked laughter and rhythmic smacks of the bed frame against the wall.

“ _Five!_ ” Four squeals, and finally Five laughs too, the bed going still.

Bare feet whisper across the floorboards, and Four stands ramrod still, her heart in her ears, until she can feel the notes of Five's song playing across her skin like a faint caress. “Is there something you need from me, Four? You’ve come such a long way just to check on me, or have you simply decided to take my good advice and see Jubik?”

“Not Jubik!” a shout from the bed accompanies the hand placed between Four’s shoulder blades, pulling her into the room just far enough for the door to slam shut behind her. “Taz is your girl! She’ll take care of you!”

Four flinches away from the touch, drawing back towards the door, but Five only chuckles, asking, “Leaving me, Taz? When I’ve already paid in advance?”

“Oh Five, Jubik will break a little thing like her,” the woman - Taz, she thinks - responds. “He’s twice her size!”

“Trust me, she needs someone to bend her over and—”

With a hard shove, Four silences Five before she finishes whatever she’s saying, her teeth grinding together for all the shame bubbling hot in the pit of her stomach. Following up with a hard jab is all Four wants to do, but she’s shaking so much from the indignity of it all that the sharp claws at the ends of her gauntlet are digging into her face. The flat plane of the door is feeble against her back, easily broken in escape or over Five’s stupid, vapid head.

Curling her free hand into a fist at her side, Four growls, “Stop messing around! Don’t you ever think about what you’re doing to us when you come here?”

A snicker. “I’ve imagined what I _could_ do—”

“ _Our cause_.”

“World peace,” Five drawls, and her companion gives a little noise of amusement, like she’d said something funny. “How could I forget?”

“So get dressed and—”

“Oh yes, about that,” Five says with a playful click of her tongue. There’s a pause, a hum, and the sudden awareness of a body much too close to her own, the smell of perfume all too telling. Four squirms, and Five leans closer. “You see—Four, darling—I’m afraid I’ve paid for three days in advance, and there’s just no way to reschedule.”

“She’s right,” Taz adds, distant and barely audible over the sound of Four’s roaring pulse in her ears. “No refunds!”

Five’s fingers tracing the edges of her face elicit a flash-fire heat beneath Four’s collar. “Exactly. So I simply won’t be _available_ to come with you to do… What was it?”

“Ogres,” Four manages, and her hand falls away from her eyes to grasp at Five’s wrist, halting the lazy graze of fingertips over her flesh but not entirely pulling her hand away. Her jaw works as she musters the courage to open her eyes, remembering the trust One laid in her to accomplish this mission. “You can’t just not come! One is—!”

Four’s eyes pop open just in time to see Five, too close, a forearm pressed against the door just above Four’s head, yawn. She flashes a cutting smile when she notices Four is looking, white teeth poised like fangs behind red lips, and says, “Oh, how thoughtful of you to worry—but fear not Four, _coming_ won’t be an issue.”

A nod over her shoulder directs Four’s gaze to the woman on the bed, and Four feels herself freeze at the sight of her, not because she’s in some state of undress, but because she’s fully clothed. The flicker of her eyes back to Five reveals her to be in a similar state, only her shed of her armor, and Four’s mind flashes back to when she first entered, the sounds they made…

Humiliation burns hot across her face, and she shoves Five away from her, furious. “Get away from me!”

“Oh, now she’s got it,” Taz calls, whistling. “Modest, isn’t she?”

“Absolutely darling,” Five agrees, dancing away from the edge of Four’s gauntlets.

“I can’t believe you!” Four snarls, hot-faced, her song beating to a riotous, rhythmless tune.

Five dodges away from the first two reaching swings of her arms, but the third catches her by the bend of the elbow, dragging her close as she laughs and her companion gives a little shout of excitement. Four wants to pummel her, wants to leave a bloody mess of her and the human who’s been making a fool of her all along.

Hissing between grit teeth, Four snaps, “Stop laughing!”

“Oh, Four. You’ve caught me now,” Five purrs, drawing even closer, long, curling hair spilling over her shoulders to tickle Four’s cheeks. “What should my punishment be? Oh, you’ll have to stay to carry it out…”

And just like that, Four feels her gut twist, images flitting just behind her eyes: Five on her knees, Five bloody, Four’s hands in her hair, about her neck. Four’s thoughts crawl down her spine, her thighs pressing tight together.

“If I didn’t know better, I’d say you look interested,” Five hums, cupping Four’s cheek and swiping her thumb beneath her eye.

From over her shoulder, Four hears Taz hoot, “Not such a nice girl after all, is she?”

The advantage is seized so seamlessly that Four doesn’t even realize Five is exactly where Five wants to be until there’s no space left between them, her retreat cut off by her own hand holding Five so near. It’s all Four can do to swallow thickly, utterly trapped.

Five licks her lips and dips her head, playing with the hem of Four’s vest at her waist, teasing. The press of smirking lips against the crown of her head is accompanied by a soft whisper of, “Well?”

All at once, Four breaks away, taking a couple steps back. “No!”

Laughter rebounds in the room, hitting Four like a punch in the gut, but she withstands it, rooted to the spot by nothing but One’s need, her face growing hotter, her thoughts growing darker. Being forced to come here again, being tricked, being laughed at—it festers in her, wretched shame twisting her up inside.

Yet even that doesn’t touch the desire soaking her underwear at the traitorous fantasies of Five, bloody, wanting, _put in her place_.

Puffing out her chest, Four begins, “You…!”

But Five only waves her off, returning to the bed and pressing one knee into the thin mattress. She sighs thoughtfully, reaching for Taz and the woman rises to the call of a hand at her jaw, pushing up on her arms and knees and leaning into Five’s touch.

“You’re more than welcome to stay, darling Four,” Five says, and Four feels herself shudder when Taz takes Five by the hips, lavishing attention on the soft flesh of her stomach with her lips and tongue. “Assuming you use your tongue for— _mm_ —something other than sermons.”

Four watches as the woman kisses her way down to the parting of Five’s shirt, nosing it up to bare more dark skin. Lax fingers comb through Taz’s short hair, encouraging, but the weight of those amber eyes rests solely upon Four, evoking shivers and searing her insides molten. Thumbs hooking in the band of Five’s underwear, Taz slants her gaze towards Four with a goading smile and licks her way down to the edge of—

Breathing hard, Four whips around, charging out the door to the chorus of another round of joyous laughter, rushing down the stairs even with Five’s voice chasing her out:

“Come back in three days!”


End file.
